


Sweetness and Spice

by Luthienberen



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games)
Genre: Established Relationship, Fluff, Harvest Festival, Light Angst, M/M, Romance, Slice of Life
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-05
Updated: 2020-10-05
Packaged: 2021-03-07 23:21:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,229
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26842060
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Luthienberen/pseuds/Luthienberen
Summary: Cullen and Dorian attend a Harvest Festival following the defeat of Corypheus – contemplation and much fun and fluff follows.
Relationships: Dorian Pavus/Cullen Rutherford
Comments: 2
Kudos: 7
Collections: Shipoween 2020 - The Halloween Ship Exchange!





	Sweetness and Spice

**Author's Note:**

  * For [SouthernContinentSkies](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SouthernContinentSkies/gifts).



> Thank you for the wonderful prompts SouthernContinentSkies. I hope I delivered “Tooth-Rotting Fluff”!
> 
> My thanks to my friend who beta read the fic, =^_^=

* * *

Fereldan in Autumn was glorious. The trees were a medley of colours: russet deepening to rich burgundy, interspersed by a smattering of golden leaves and specks of dark purple. Oftentimes the leaves would fall to the ground to form a beautiful quilt-like effect. In a strong wind or gale the very trees would shake and twist or bend, dislodging their proud crowns to form multi-coloured miniature tornadoes that danced for a while before scattering every which way.

Today was no different and the trees bordering the fine fields where the harvest had been collected, and now formed the nexus of the autumn celebrations, had already formed a blanket of crunchy leaves. His booted feet sank through the blanket of leaves, granting Cullen a feeling of pure satisfaction in the realness of the season, as a signifier that they were truly here, after everything they had experienced.

Even better, an occasional breeze would cause some of the slender branches above him to shift restlessly, and then some of their dark brown and red foliage would drift down onto him.

Cullen did not mind and instead relished the peace as he stood quietly on the edges of the party celebrating the Harvest with a fond smile. After so much chaos the tear in sky was healed and the clean-up process could begin. That in of itself would take time and be muddied by politics – here Cullen scowled. He loathed politics, the manner in which those involved would pretend friendship or speak honeyed words which sometimes barely concealed the poison underneath. The Orlesian’s honed such a game into a fine art, which Leliana and Vivienne were experts at – as was Dorian.

Thinking of the incorrigible Mage always put Cullen in a good mood and he glanced about for his lover. Ah, there he was, being utterly charming to a posturing lady despite clearly wishing to depart for more entertaining acquaintances.

Deciding to re-join his companion, Cullen abandoned his spot under the autumn laden bowers and walked with a purposeful stride to the pair.

“Dorian!”

“Why Amatus, I did wonder where you had vanished too,” a playful smile turned up those fine lips, yet Cullen saw the flash of worry in deep brown eyes.

“Merely contemplating nature,” reassured Cullen.

Dorian laughed and brushed at his shoulders. “I can see _that_ by the mantle of leaves on your shoulders. Honestly, do you Fereldans enjoy rolling about in nature?”

Cullen snorted and bowing to the Lady with a polite, “If you would excuse us”, escorted Dorian away, pausing only when they reached the long low table with a bountiful spread of food and drink. Leaning against a particularly large hay bale, he was aware of Dorian's scrutiny.

Meeting his assessing gaze Cullen cocked his head and blinked at the sudden flash of adoration mixed with amusement.

"Should I be afraid by your look?"

"The big bad Commander afraid of little dashing me? Surely not!"

"Considering 'little dashing me' is a mage who has accompanied the Inquisitor through the Fade, taken on an Old God Dragon _and_ helped defeat Corypheus I think my wariness is warranted."

Dorian flung back his head with a laugh that had joy rise up within Cullen.

"Oh Amatus, such wit! Your wariness is unfounded my dear, I was simply appreciating how the setting sun suits you. Do you realise how it transforms your hair to fire and gold? You do make for a fine specimen."

Cullen rolled his eyes, yet by how hot his cheeks were, he must be blushing terribly. "The sun suits you also, my dragon."

"Hmmm...must your dragon breathe fire for you to reveal your secrets?"

"Please don't - or at least wait until we need an excuse to escape. I rather not incur the Inquisitor's wrath otherwise."

"Oh the Inquisitor is off dunking for apples with Iron Bull and Sera, so we won't see them for a while."

"I thought apples make the Inquisitor ill?"

"Fortunately, Josephine is present so there shouldn't be a need for a healer. Now, do spill your secrets like the good ex-Templar you are my dear Commander."

"Does this ex-Templar need to remind one Tevinter mage to behave?"

Cullen shivered in pleasure at Dorian's smirk and worse, the salacious tone to his response. "Not in front of the guests, but hold that thought."

"In that case," Cullen winced at the tremor in his voice and his lover's bright eyes, shining with mirth at his predicament, "I best reveal my secrets."

Dorian crowed with delight at his success. “Excellent! First, let me fetch us a glass of wine – sampled by yours truly prior to this festival, so you can rest assured it is the best to be had in Ferelden.”

Cullen rolled his eyes at Dorian’s smugness, but accepted his glass, saying affectionately, “Thank you.”

Dorian nodded, but pressed him, tone suddenly gentle. “Now, what is wrong Amatus? An air of sadness hangs about you.”

How did Dorian know him so well? Cullen shook his head fondly. “I was genuinely enjoying the peace Dorian, but my mind strayed to the work to be done once we have finished celebrating the Harvest. Politics will inevitably muddy the waters and I am no deft hand at it…unlike you.”

“Oh, there’s no need to be so sour Commander. We shall always need a sharp sword to remind the more reluctant or obtuse players that while words may be sharp, irritated Commanders of the Inquisition are another beast all together.”

“I will never live down the day I snapped and threatened that posturing Denerim noble am I?”

Dorian smirked and sipped his wine, ensuring that Cullen tracked the movement of his throat as he swallowed.

“No, but if it is any consolation, this mage found it extremely attractive.”

“Of course you would,” sighed Cullen and to distract himself he took a sip only to feel light-headed. Re-focusing on his lover he noticed the single red drop glistening on Dorian’s bottom lip.

Seeing the grin etching its way across Dorian’s handsome features, Cullen reached out and dragged his lover to him, relieved that for the moment no one was paying attention. Dragging his tongue over the bottom lip and the offending ruby pearl, he was pleased with Dorian’s shuddering breath and even more so when the mage kissed him fiercely.

Magic twined around them and where before Cullen would have reacted badly he now relaxed. Both trusted each other implicitly and Cullen knew if he needed to he could break Dorian’s spell – he _was_ a former Templar. Yet, the same was true for Dorian. The mage knew he could match Cullen’s strength and if required could work his magic to stop Cullen. It was why they worked so well, trust and respect, loyalty and love all bound into one stormy package that spread its fine threads through their bodies and soul.

For Cullen it was like the fire and lightening his mage unleashed, sinking tenterhooks of lighting into his bones and soul, love searing his soul like the fire Dorian wielded with grace and utter resolution.

Dorian he knew, felt it was like the after-effects of a magical storm. No longer bound by lyrium, Cullen apparently still smelled and tasted of magic. In his case, it was reminiscent of the freshness and stillness after a storm, where an echo of that magical scent lingered, tantalising the senses. It suffused Dorian, daring him to love and be loved in return, to cherish and be cherished.

To come together like this was a delight and shrouded in invisibility the two lovers kissed ardently. Months of fighting had accumulated in being able to relax for a brief period; to gather the wheat and fruits of the forests and woodlands in preparation for autumn and winter.

Now they could kiss without fearing a dragon descending upon them or another Blight or the end of the world. Tidying up the chaotic aftermath could wait. For now both men sank into each other’s presence, relishing the affirmation of their love in alternatingly sweet and hard kisses, and in the reassuring solidness of their tight embrace. Gradually they calmed, slowly to end in Cullen pressing a gentle kiss to the corner of Dorian’s mouth and brush his lips over a now less than groomed moustache.

Dorian protested mildly at his action, but the sensation of his lips against his cheek in a curved smile assured Cullen that it was a token protest. Still, when they pulled apart, Dorian was about to set his moustache to rights when Cullen realised the obvious.

“Damn, I spilled our wine.”

“Hmmm, yet missed us both – your training was impeccable,” remarked Dorian with an arched eyebrow, comb grooming his moustache back to his usual impeccable standard.

Cullen rolled his eyes and said dryly, “I am delighted that my swordsmanship skills can be applied in spilling wine, Dorian.”

Dorian grinned and waved his hand to stop the illusion. He took Cullen’s glass and turned to the table with an inquisitive expression. This time he properly examined the table’s contents. Cullen followed his gaze and was once more astounded by the sheer bountiful feast stretching the length of the five metre table.

Wine and juices and water marked waypoints between all the mounds of food and autumn decorations: bundles of branches with coloured paper, dioramas of farm animals and people tending to the harvest, magical crystals spelled to offer light of varying shades – blue, purple, orange and silver or gold. Pumpkins carved with comic expressions, (thank you Sera), flickered with candlelight.

The food itself ranged from simple bread and butter to complex Orlesian desserts and spiced broths and highly seasoned sausages or cured meats. In-between, pies and crumbles sat cold or were kept warm by sitting on top of small ovens with candles to provide heat; pumpkin soup and pumpkin pies and drinks were in evidence, along with biscuits shaped like the Inquisitor, fairies, dragons, braids resembling wheat and cats while the variety in fruit was incredible and bewildering!

“Is pumpkin a national dish in Ferelden? I can understand the apples and cinnamon, but pumpkins?”

“Time honoured tradition,” teased Cullen. “Eating pumpkin at Harvest festival is compulsory.”

“Hilarious,” Dorian drawled, before innocently shoving him playfully into the hay bale causing Cullen to flail momentarily before struggling to his feet to glare at his all too tidy sprite.

Yet, ere he could return the favour, the mage grasped his staff and struck a dramatic pose: body at an angle with right foot forward, staff in right hand pointed directly at the Harvest table.

Cullen’s flash of premonition was hardly impressive considering who his dear friend was – one mischievous Tevinter Mage. Without a doubt he would be implementing a quick exit after Dorian’s next dramatic stunt.

He was right when the mage smirked at him. “Grab some food Amatus.”

Cullen did not even bother to groan or blush in embarrassment – he had no time! Instead he seized a large plate and filled it with fresh golden-green apples, a mixture of the biscuits, as well as an oval dish of crumble full of the aromatic and hunger inducing scent of sweet red apples, fresh cinnamon and – where the purple sauce had broken through the layer of crumble – tart blackberries.

Balancing this bounty, he grabbed red and green grapes, cheeses, redberries and a pumpkin cake. Perhaps with a little inducement, (kisses and Cullen’s fur mantle being strategically placed for comfort), Dorian would condescend to sample the cake. If he liked it Cullen would emerge the victor, otherwise Dorian would be insufferable and probably demand some oil massage…which wouldn’t be a bad way to lose frankly.

Quite cheerful therefore, despite the concern over Dorian’s intentions, Cullen quickly had a plate full of an assortment of food and watched as Dorian uttered a spell while simultaneously striking the earth with his staff.

All of the candles in Sera’s creations were extinguished only to abruptly _come to life_. Cullen wasn’t sure whether to be horrified or embarrassed or impressed. Maybe all three were appropriate, because as he observed the orange pumpkins they began to glow alternatively with silver and golden lights.

“How…”

“Oh, if you know the right spells you can create quite a scene,” announced Dorian cheerfully and, without an ounce of shame, he waved a hand at the crystal orbs of light.

They, too, went out only to be replaced by glowing pumpkin coloured light.

Cullen heard the exclamations of shock from the other festival attendees and staring in exasperation at his lover who merely smirked. Indeed, Dorian simply ignored the growing attention from the party and instead grabbed a large crystal decanter full of the burgundy wine, plus two clean crystal glasses.

“Hurry, Amatus! Before we are caught!”

“Andraste preserve me!”

Cullen did his best to run after Dorian who had it easier considering the plate Cullen was attempting to carry. Yet somehow they exited the area before the party goers arrived at the scene.

Catching up with Dorian who had paused at the tree line fencing in the field that had only hours ago been full of waving yellow wheat, Cullen took the lead, drawing Dorian under the sylvan gloom until they reached a small space between the trees. In the darkness Dorian’s upheld staff, surrounded by a nimbus of light, supplied the only illumination.

His wicked smile was intoxicating and Cullen’s chest ached with how much he loved his mage, who still fretted occasionally over Cullen loving him. In a manoeuvre speaking of practice Cullen shrugged off his mantle and it dropped to the ground. A judicious moment of arranging and it was ready for them to sit upon.

Dorian in the meantime had not been idle. His staff was leaning against a sturdy oak tree, while the wine and glasses resided on the leafy ground. A collection of twigs and dried leaves – handled with care to ensure they didn’t crumble – had been formed into a pile next to Cullen’s cloak.

A ward encircled the pile, and Dorian finished his task by murmuring an enchantment which set it ablaze. The ward would ensure the fire wouldn’t spread to the rest of the grass. The nimbus of light on the top of staff vanished at a command.

A further minute had their tiny cramped clearing warded from intrusion by unwanted guests. Dorian glanced over his spells with his hands on his hips and a sigh of satisfaction. Cullen chuckled at the glorious vision, admiring the dance of light on muscle and the lean silhouette Dorian presented.

He received a raised eyebrow, to which he patted the space next to him. A happy smile curved those lips he adored to kiss. Taking up the decanter and glasses, Dorian swiftly joined him, sinking gracefully like a cat onto the fur cape. Excited and eager, Cullen placed the harvest dish to his left, breaking off a piece of pumpkin cake before turning to face Dorian on his right.

“Surely you jest?”

“As much as when I beat you at chess.”

“So much fire my warrior, it becomes you quite well. Though I really must stop allowing you to win.”

Cullen laughed at that and leaning forward placed the piece of cake against the delectable pout Dorian wore.

“We can debate whether you allow me to win _after_ you have tried the pumpkin cake. If you like it I win and claim my prize. If you insist on not liking it, then you claim your prize…and Maker protect me, it can be whatever you wish.”

The fiend grinned and opened his mouth. His tongue darted out and most unfairly - though when did Dorian fight fairly in their games? - curled around Cullen’s fingers. Shuddering at the sensation, Cullen swallowed his groan at the desire darkening his lover’s eyes. Carefully Cullen deposited the small piece onto that questing tongue and Dorian closed his mouth around his fingers before he could escape.

Slowly dragging his lips over Cullen’s fingers, Dorian’s mouth popped off in an almost obscene fashion. The heat of the fire along his side was nothing compared to the heat smouldering through his body and Cullen pressed shaking fingers into his thigh.

Yet watching as Dorian chewed then swallowed the morsel he had to laugh at the brief flash of horror and the resulting accusing glare. He may have lost, but his love’s expression and cry of outrage was delightful.

Dorian clearly decided that his humour was sufficient to abandon decorum and Cullen had a lapful of indignant and determined mage a moment later. Allowing himself to be borne down, Cullen grinned up at Dorian who said calmly, “You are fortunate I am a forgiving creature Cullen. Now, it is your turn for experimentation!”

Sitting back and straddling Cullen’s hips, Dorian sighed at the pleasurable contact this brought to both of them despite how thickly dressed Dorian was these days. He had switched the instant autumn had been heralded by cold mornings, crisp afternoons and chilly evenings. Consequently, Dorian – who admittedly was always cold in Fereldan – was wrapped in heavier materials of wool under his fine outer layer of silk.

Cullen clasped Dorian’s hips, hands graced by silk overlying the thick wool Dorian wore to shield himself from the cool days. Dorian hummed in delight at his grip, and adjusting his seat so that he was perched much to their mutual desire, he gathered up the plate. Dorian did his best to scoop up some crumble which alas caused an awful mess.

“I do believe you were raised by dogs Amatus. There _was_ cutlery to choose.” Still, Dorian’s displeasure lasted only as long as it took Cullen to lick his long graceful fingers clean of purple and red sauce and lingering crumbs.

“Hmmm, perhaps we can dismiss the cutlery for _once_.”

Cullen grinned and fumbled for a glass which Dorian happily filled. He raised it to Dorian’s mouth who drank a long draught and once more Cullen had the fun of licking clean Dorian’s lips of droplets of wine.

More food came, the sugary crumbly biscuits complimented the redberries perfectly, whilst the grapes and cheese went well with the apples which were sweet, or tart or semi-sweet.

Any mess was cleaned up by kisses or swipes of a handkerchief courtesy of Dorian. Both methods were of priceless value, affording much fun, rolling on Cullen’s cloak and somehow the application of the silk handkerchief ranged from sweet and loving, to teasing out flashes of mutual want from the men.

In this vein the evening continued: of teasing samples of food and sips of fruity wine, messy kisses and clever hands and fingers exploring each other, until at last they lay satiated with Dorian curled up against Cullen.

Above them, in the small gap in the sylvan canopy, the night sky shimmered with white stars, crowning their hollow with a silvery-white light, transforming everything to a nearly ethereal appearance. Neither man minded, happy to absorb the otherworldly stillness and peace within that stillness.

Dorian’s fire added sparks of orange-yellow light into this peculiar world, but Cullen knew Dorian’s magic would keep it alive. Knowing they were safe, Cullen joined Dorian in a light sleep, content that the fire would afford them some warmth as would their shared body heat.

Once they had slept a little they would return to the Harvest festival and make merry with their friends.

_~ Finis ~_


End file.
